


Consolation

by mypoisonedvine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypoisonedvine/pseuds/mypoisonedvine
Summary: you know it’s probably not great that you always turn to your best friend Bucky whenever you’re especially hurt by your husband.  you know your husband should probably care that you spend so much time with him, but he doesn’t.  which is good, in the end, because you two really are just friends… until you’re not.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74





	Consolation

You were good at hiding it— the real reason why you showed up at Bucky’s apartment unexpectedly, that is. 

It wasn’t _entirely_ unexpected: you sent a text first, asking if he was down for a movie night, telling him you missed when you used to hang out more. He did, too, but he had always been afraid your husband would be an issue. Nice enough guy, but he didn’t seem to trust Bucky entirely… certainly didn’t seem to love that you two were so close.

And who could blame him? A beautiful, sweet, smart girl like you… he understood why your husband didn’t want you hanging out with other guys when avoidable. _I’ve told him a thousand times, you’re just a friend— you’re just Bucky_ , you would tell him when you were recounting arguments, explaining why it had been a while since you two had had a chance to catch up. But Bucky never told you that your husband was right to worry, that he had dreamed since he met you of being more than ‘just a friend,’ that _he_ himself was the reason you two didn’t spend more time together: because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confessing his feelings.

Because of course he would never make a move on his best friend— on a married woman. It would be so overwhelmingly inappropriate, such a colossal waste of time; and it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle just being your friend. Sure, it killed him a little bit sometimes, but it was worth it a million times over to be near you at all. He would take what he could get… and if that meant platonic movie night because you’d had another argument with your husband, then so be it.

“I stopped by the store on my way; heard your ice cream reserve was depleted,” you explained as you brandished the Ben & Jerry’s before slipping past him to put them in his freezer. 

He watched you walk there, silently hating how comfortable you were in his apartment. He loved it, but he hated it, too. 

“What are we watching?” you asked, snapping him back to reality.

“Uh, I dunno…”

“You were supposed to pick while I was driving over, genius,” you grumbled sarcastically.

“I narrowed it down to _The Ring_ or _You’ve Got Mail_ ,” he decided suddenly.

You chuckled lightly and the sound lifted his spirits. “Okay, so, two drastically different evenings.“

“I mean, if you think about it, they’re both about meeting new people through technology,” he corrected.

“Do VHS tapes count as technology?” you raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“They do to me,” he shrugged.

//

With the ice cream supply exhausted and Bucky’s largest plastic bowl now containing only the unpopped kernels and little broken pieces of popcorn that didn’t make the cut, the third act of _The Ring_ was beginning and you were spending more time covering your eyes than not.

“Let me know when the scary part is over,” you requested weakly from between the hands on your face.

“It’s a horror movie; the whole thing is one long scary part!” he laughed.

You peeked out through your fingers only to see another terrifying moment, yelping and hiding yourself in his chest.

He froze, not sure at all what to do with your face pressed against him; he held his breath in case the inflation of his chest would disturb you. 

“I can’t look!” you whimpered, voice muffled by his shirt.

He lifted his hand in consideration of stroking your hair comfortingly, but ultimately decided against it and set it back down.

Thankfully, the movie was almost over and you wouldn’t stay cuddled up to him after it ended— meaning he’d finally be free from the glorious torture of your nearness.

But then the credits were rolling and you still didn’t budge, holding him tight. At first he thought you were just still scared, but then you took a slow, shaky breath… and he realized something was wrong with you, way beyond just a spooky movie.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, preparing to hear you explain what really happened with you and your husband that made you come here.

You just shook your head a little against his chest, making him sigh.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he continued, and you hesitated before pulling back and sitting up straight again. As painful as it had been, he missed your touch already.

“Yes,” you answered, “but I shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“But I need to.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t.”

“…okay…”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands— not from fear this time, but exasperation. “I told myself that if it ever got to this point, I’d tell someone. But now I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

"He doesn't… we don't…” you started and stopped a few times. “God, Buck, I can’t even say it…”

“You don’t have to—” he began to tell you, but you said it anyway, tearing your hands away from your face and looking back at him sternly.

“He hasn’t touched me in months. And today marks an entire year since the last time I had sex.”

He tried not to choke when he heard that. He figured you were just going to say that he was texting a female coworker too much or flip-flopping about if he wanted kids or not. This was something else entirely. “Oh… um, wow.”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure where to start. In spite of all his obliviousness, he was pretty sure he should say something, he just didn’t know what. “And he… he knows that you… want that? I mean, you’ve like… tried to, you know… initiate things, right?” He cringed at his own voice, and stupid question.

You laughed a little, in a sad way. “I’ve _begged_ him for it, fuck, it’s so humiliating. It doesn’t even work. He’s always too tired, not in the mood, busy with something. And of course I want to respect him and not pressure him into anything but at the same time, I feel so fucking unlovable— so hideous.”

“You’re not hideous,” he said firmly, more sure of that than anything else he’d said so far.

“I try to believe that, really,” you mitigated, “I try not to take it personally— but _fuck_ , it feels personal. Do you know how often people talk about sex? It’s like society has this idea that men just wanna bang twenty-four hours a day and the only thing stopping them is women being prudes. Do you know what it’s like to hear people talk like that when your husband rejects you every night? Do you know how it feels to hear your girlfriends complaining about how their boyfriends are pestering them for sex too often, and you’re just sitting there screaming inside your head ‘ _at least he wants you_ ’? Bucky, you can’t even imagine…”

“I can’t,” he agreed. 

"It’s been so long…” you sighed shakily, collecting yourself before you started again. “It’s been so long since somebody touched me. I wondered if I would forget what it felt like.”

His hand shook a little as he reached out with his flesh hand and brushed it against your arm, staring into your watery eyes and finding less fear there than he expected, thankfully.

“Did you forget?” he asked softly.

“I must have,” you mumbled, “it feels better than I remembered.”

The heartbreak in your voice made anger bubble up in his chest, amazed at how your husband ever allowed this to happen; ever allowed you to become so touch-starved that even just a brush on your arm made you emotional. “I can’t imagine being with you every day and not wanting to touch you whenever I could get the chance,” he admitted. “I can’t imagine being your husband and not making love to you every day, every hour, whenever you wanted; whenever you’d let me. I can’t imagine having you beg me for something and not giving it to you— I’d give you everything.”

He had to fight a gasp as you suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, a bit sudden at first but melting into something gentle and patient and soft. 

“Then do it,” you whispered as you finally pulled back; he could barely think straight to even process what you were saying. “Give me everything.”

He nodded a little before he kissed you again, rough but deep and slow. His hands roamed your body like he’d wished to for so long; his tongue slid against yours and the taste of you drove him wild.

As hard as it was to break from your lips, he moved his kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking at your pulse as you groaned and clutched at his shoulders through his shirt.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, and he must’ve heard you swear a million times but this time it sounded so different. 

His cock was straining against his jeans already, just from this— it was like he was a fucking teenager again, but to be fair, you’d always had that effect on him: sweaty palms, stammering, sudden boners. It was like lifelong puberty with you around.

When his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing over the skin right above your sweats, you pulled back briefly to pull your shirt off over your head. He thought it might be awkward if he just stood there gawking at your chest, so he only allowed himself a moment of it before he got back to work holding you tight and kissing your collarbones.

He pulled you closer and you must’ve felt his cock pressed against you because you gasped a little. And you must’ve liked it, because your hand slipped down and rubbed him through the front of his jeans, making him choke on nothing.

“S’big,” you mumbled, and he grinned a little. 

“Feel what you do to me?” he asked softly, and you nodded a little before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand down your body and into the waistband of your pants. He shuddered when he felt how warm your skin was, the lacy fabric of your panties, the slick folds you guided his fingers through.

“Feel what you do to me?” you shot back, but your cockiness faded when he circled his middle finger over your swollen bud. He loved the way your body reacted so easily, subtle little gasps and shivers, your hips jolting forward for more stimulation. You both moaned when he pushed a finger into your channel, your walls already pulsing around him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You whispered your approval and he twisted the finger inside you. Even just that made you let out a heavy breath, your hands reaching down to grip his wrist— they didn’t push him away, thankfully, just reminded him to be gentle with you as he added the second finger, pushing a bit deeper than before.

“More,” you whimpered your plea, “I want more.”

For a second he thought you meant more fingers, but then you opened your eyes and gave him a look… _that_ look. 

It made it abundantly clear that fingers weren’t going to be enough. After all, you had asked him to give you everything. So he gladly obliged when you started to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. You lifted your hips to let him pull down your sweats, not giving him much time to drink in the sight of you before you started opening his fly for him.

Being undressed by you made his heart race; the way you rushed, like you couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him, was flattering yet relatable.

You sighed when you got his cock out, instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft and stroking. He shuddered at the softness of your hands, at your gentle but persistent exploration. Clearly it had been a while since you’d gotten the chance to interact with a dick, but it didn’t show in any lack of skill— if anything it just made you more eager, your grip firm but your touches gentle. He kissed you again, holding your face in one hand and leaning you back with the other until you were laid on the couch and he was hovering over you.

He guided your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own as he guided the weeping head over your slick folds, smiling at your gasp when he bumped against your clit.

“Do you want this?” he asked, fully prepared for you to back out now before you did something you really couldn’t take back.

“Yes.” Your answer was more confident than he was expecting, but he still couldn’t really believe it. It was just too good to be true. So he had to check again.

“…are you sure?”

“Don’t make me beg, Bucky,” you whimpered, “I’ve done it enough, I can’t do it again. Just make love to me— I need you inside me, _please_ …”

Your head fell back as he pushed into you, your nails digging into his shoulders until he stopped from fear of hurting you (even though it took more willpower than he knew he had).

“Don’t stop,” you whined, “need to feel all of you, Bucky, please please don’t stop—”

He definitely didn’t have enough willpower to resist that. Slamming into you all at once, he hissed as you cried out, baring his teeth at the sight of you quivering and moaning beneath him.

“I— I need a second,” you explained, voice tight with ill-concealed pain, “it’s been a while.”

"I can wait,” he nodded, “I won’t move until you’re ready.”

He could tell you were struggling, because how could you not be when you felt so fucking tight around him? He guided you to breathe slowly with him, feeling your body relax slightly and noticing the way your face untwisted as you became more comfortable.

You nodded a little, but he needed to hear you say it. “Fuck me,” you whispered.

And he did. 

He still kept his pace measured and relaxed, savoring every inch of you— savoring your reactions to every inch of him.

But watching your face was going to push him towards the edge too fast, and he wanted to make this last if possible, so he leaned down to suck on your neck, thoroughly tasting your skin as you moaned and writhed beneath him. It felt incredible to surround your body with his, to cage you in and pin you down with his weight— it made him feel like he could protect you, keep you safe, even though he knew he couldn’t save you from heartache as much as he wanted to.

If you wanted someone to touch you, to give you affection, to make love to you and make you feel loved, then you’d come to the right place. That came to him naturally; the hard part was going to be letting you go, letting this be the one-time favor for a friend that he already knew it was.

“You feel so good,” he found himself whispering against your skin, just beside your ear, “so good for me.”

The praise must have had a strong effect on you, because your walls tightened around him suddenly.

“So perfect,” he continued, wanting to feel it again, “my perfect girl.” And you weren’t his girl, but maybe he could pretend you were; you certainly seemed to enjoy pretending, with the way your moans egged him on. “God, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good around my cock.”

“Bucky,” you whined, arching your back, and he grinned because it was obvious that you responded even better to dirty talk than praise.

“You like that, huh? You like makin’ me feel good?” he pressed, laughing a little when you nodded feverishly. “Fuck, such a good girl… takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ deep…”

You grabbed him by his hair to make him kiss you again, hungry lips smashing against his.

Inspired by your passion but afraid of what he’d do with all of this control, he wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up until he was sitting while you straddled him, looking up at you with a grin. “Ride me, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it,” he instructed lowly. The way you rocked your hips and threw your head back was everything he’d dreamed it would be, increased exponentially. Of course, he’d never told anyone that he dreamed about that, but he’d also never thought it could ever come true. He ran his hands over every part of you he could reach, just to make sure it was real; just to make sure he memorized the feel of you while he could.

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking gently and smirking a little when you moaned loudly. “You’re sensitive here,” he noted aloud, kissing his way to the other nipple but still teasing the first with his metal fingers.

Your moans came faster and louder, your fingers combing through his hair and pulling seemingly unintentionally. He noticed that you let your eyes fall shut, your head crane back, and although he was glad that it was a sign of pleasure, he wanted to see you; he wanted you to see him, know that it was him making you feel this way. so, he reached up and cupped your face in his hand, cradling your cheek, pulling you closer to look at him, staring into your eyes— and he knew it wasn’t a subtle move, wasn’t believable as a guy just helping out a friend, but he didn’t care anymore. When he kissed you again, it almost felt like you meant it, too; like you wanted him first, and not just as a consolation prize.

But you pulled back a little too soon, a reminder to both of you that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was.

Your hips gyrated faster and more vigorously, his hands gripping you tight and guiding your movements while you sighed and bit your lip. You looked so indescribably good when you were immersed in pleasure like this, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance, your chest swelling and deflating with quick breaths.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered below his breath as his hand softly trailed from your collarbone down to your thigh. The sounds you made were constantly changing, a little more high-pitched and needy now as you rode him faster. He was already picking up on the little signs that you were getting closer: your thighs flexing where they were straddled beside his own, how your body jolted and shivered in his grasp, your eyes wrenched shut and your skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Already he knew your body so well, but he knew there was so much more he would never get the chance to discover. For now, he’d just have to settle for a preview of all the perfect little ways you fell apart.

And, in the interest of speeding that process up a bit, he reached down to where your bodies were joined and circled a thumb over your clit.

“Fuck!” you yelped, your inner muscles bearing down on him out of nowhere until he was forced to groan from your tightness.

“You close?” he stammered out, way less confident than he meant it to be. He should’ve said something cool like ‘I know you’re close’ or ‘aw, baby, does that feel good?’ but no, he was too far gone and gave his own desperation away.

“Yes, baby, I’m so close,” you sighed, “I’m gonna come— you’re gonna make me come.”

You said it with a hint of shock in your voice, like you could barely believe it. He couldn’t believe it, either, because it was surely too good to be true.

“Come for me,” he instructed firmly, pulling you closer until his nose brushed against yours, “say my name when I make you come.”

It was unfair, but he needed to pretend you were his for just a moment. Only his.

“Bucky,” you whimpered shakily. Your walls tightened around him so perfectly, over and over, until it took everything in him not to bust right then. “Bucky, I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming—”

“I know,” he whispered, “I know, pretty girl, keep going.”

Your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even notice the pain when he was watching your face as you came— it was tight and twisted at first, before falling into a gasp and a moan that made his heart swell along with his cock that painted your walls the absolute second he knew you’d come. It was intense, not just from holding back for so long, but from knowing he was coming inside you.

He sighed and started to catch his breath as you slumped forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, the warmth of your body nearly overwhelming now as he felt little aftershocks ripple through your channel around where he was still within you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it. But he did, and he nodded a little as he rested his face against yours, stroking your hair gently. You held each other in silence for a long time, so long that when your breathing slowed down significantly and he could feel your body relax entirely, he realized you had fallen asleep. 

Carefully, he held you tighter so he could stand up and carry you to his bedroom, your body instinctively wrapping around him like a koala… like even in your sleep, you could act all adorable and break his heart just that much more. 

He did his best to tread quietly and gently, laying you down onto the bed and only then pulling his softened cock out of you, finding his discarded boxers to put back on before joining you between the sheets. 

He knew you would be gone in the morning but he indulged himself in holding you tonight, breathing your scent and pressing your back against his chest. He didn’t want to fall asleep because he didn’t want to miss a second of your body wrapped in his, but it was impossible not to with the soft pace of your breathing almost rocking him to sleep like a beautiful lullaby.

Where there was warmth and peace before, he awoke to cold and emptiness— both between his sheets and in himself.

It’s not like he really expected you to stay, and even if you had it wouldn’t mean that you would leave your husband for your best friend, that this would have ever been anything more than a glimpse of what could’ve been in another life or another universe.

He could still smell you, barely, and he buried his face in the sheets to take it all in before it faded away. When it was gone, he pulled back only to find a wet patch of his tears there instead.


End file.
